


Puppy Tales

by Copgirl1964



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dogs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur gets attacked by a Rottweiler but fortunately a knight in an atrocious shirt is there to help. Other incidents happen that involve Arthur and dogs which  make Eames wonder if there's more to it than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chasingriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/gifts), [mycitruspocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/gifts).



> This is my first attempt on an Inception story. Please, be kind.  
> Special thanks go to Chasingriver for beta-ing the story - and, together with Mycitruspocket, for getting me hooked on Arthur and Eames. 
> 
>    
> Since it was Christmas Eve and the airport almost deserted it probably made sense in some twisted way that a hundred pound Rottweiler named Rosie would declare Arthur her target of choice. One moment the dog had been sitting patiently next to her owner who hugged a woman goodbye, the next the dog had taken off and was hurling towards her prey.

The first time they had met on a job, Eames had called Arthur something the point man hadn't been able to understand. Arthur had done some research on the internet and once he had found out that the forger had used a Swahili expression which translated roughly into 'stick in a suit', he had retaliated by accidentally knocking over a large mug of coffee. The brew, only lukewarm at that point, had spilled into Eames' lap and had ruined a pair of trousers so atrocious, Arthur was still convinced that he had done Eames a favour.

That had set the tone of Eames' and Arthur's relationship, but over the course of a couple of years both men had developed a healthy respect for the other's work. Naturally neither Eames nor Arthur would admit any of it and only after what Eames referred to as 'the dog incident' had their relationship begun to change.

The incident had taken place in front of Terminal 5 at Heathrow airport on a particularly cold Christmas Eve. The team had finished an extraction only hours before and they were leaving London with their usual quick efficiency; in a hurry but without attracting attention.

The others were already en route to their respective destinations when Arthur stepped out of the cab that had taken him to the airport. Since it was Christmas Eve and the airport almost deserted, it probably made sense in some twisted way that a hundred pound Rottweiler named Rosie would declare Arthur her target of choice. One moment the dog had been sitting patiently next to her owner who was hugging a woman goodbye, the next the dog had taken off and was hurtling towards her prey.

Arthur could handle just about everything people threw at him. No matter if it was insults or hand-grenades, the point man would ward it off with ease and without breaking a sweat. Dogs though were a completely different matter. Had he not planned to board the next British Airways flight to Chicago, Arthur might have carried a gun that theoretically he could have drawn in order to shoot the dog. Although deep down Arthur knew it would have made no difference whatsoever. Dogs, no matter their size, were his Achilles' heel. Therefore, instead of climbing on top of the next minibus or aiming for some equally life-saving action, the point man froze and expected to die right then and there.

Teeth bared, the Rottweiler advanced at a speed that belied her weight. The large dog jumped but the impact never came. Instead, Arthur watched with great astonishment as Eames intercepted the Rottweiler. As far as Arthur was concerned, Eames had suddenly materialized out of nowhere and plugged the dog out of mid-air. The man's strong arms engulfed the beast and returned it almost gently to the ground.

“Bad girl! Down!” he shouted and Rosie, in her confusion, obeyed. Instead of ripping the forger's throat out, the huge dog was looking at Eames with canine adoration and thumping her tail on the pavement.

The dog-owner came running towards Arthur, arms flailing, ready to apologize and fuss over the man who was literally shaking in his boots. He was stopped by the same hands that had intercepted his Rottweiler.

“Take your dog and leave!” Eames' voice was so low it was almost a growl.

He pressed the dog's leash into the man's hand and all the terrified dog-owner could do was nod and flee the premises with the distinct feeling this had been a close call for both him and Rosie.

No sooner than the man and his dog had scurried away, Eames went to Arthur whose face was as white as a sheet. Never before had he seen the point man like this. Eames had planned to treat him like a stranger, going through some sort of 'are you all right, sir?' routine, perhaps give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and then continue on his way, but there was no way he would leave him in such a state.

“Come on, darling, I'm going to buy you a drink,” Eames said softly, while he picked up Arthur's and his own luggage. He put a hand at the small of Arthur's back to lead him inside the terminal.  
Arthur didn't resist, which proved how spooked he really was, but allowed to be steered to a pub and sat into a plastic chair. That the spinach-green of the chairs,which clashed violently with the purple of Eames’ shirt didn't make Arthur shudder in disgust was another indicator that he was not well.

Eames knew it was completely ridiculous to feel protective about Arthur who could kill another man by using just his naked toes, and his self-preservation instincts kept him from offering physical comfort. Instead of hugging the point man to his chest, an action that undoubtedly would have led to Arthur breaking Eames' nose, he ordered drinks for both of them.

A surprisingly cheerful bartender served a double whisky for Arthur and a coke for Eames. Hidden in a badly lit corner of the pub Arthur poured down the alcohol in a single gulp. It took a minute or two but eventually he no longer looked like the embodiment of the Ghost of Christmas Past. Coming slowly out of his shock he blinked owlishly at Eames, who quickly whipped away all emotions from his face and tried to look as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. There were plenty of questions he wanted to ask but decided on the safe, “Another one?”

Arthur nodded and Eames hurried to order a second glass of whisky; he didn't think it'd sit well with Arthur if he knew his behaviour had triggered every single one of his counterpart's protective instincts.

Neither men spoke and once both the softdrink and the second whisky were gone, they parted, looking like strangers who had met solely through this incident. They might have shared a drink but now they went to fly to their respective destinations, continuing on paths that were unlikely to cross again in the future.

Only someone who looked very closely might have spotted the grateful look in one man's eyes and the relief on the other's face.

* * *

Four months later

Arthur took a deep breath before he opened the door of the blessedly air-conditioned car. The moist heat of New Orleans felt like a slap in the face and even the short walk from the car to the door of the villa made him feel light-headed.

Closing the wooden door, he took a moment to collect himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose. The light headache was a direct result of the heat and several sleepless nights. He opened the Sigg bottle that had been his constant companion since the day they had arrived in the French Quarter, and drank thirstily before he walked into the living-room.  
Instead of finding Cobb and Ariadne dreaming in their deckchairs with Yusuf watching over them, all three of them and Eames were sitting around the table, presently roaring with laughter.

“You can't be serious,” Cobb was just saying, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“I swear,” Yusuf replied. “It was pitch dark when the fire alarm went off and I was completely certain the pants I put on were my own.”

“Why aren't you working?” Arthur stared at the team in disbelief.

Only his lightning-fast reflexes saved him from being hit in a face by the can of beer Eames tossed in his direction.

“Job's postponed for a few days and since today is Yusuf's birthday we decided to celebrate,” Cobb provided.

Arthur took in the scene in front of him. It wasn't even noon and twelve very empty beer cans were already littering the floor. In this infernal heat he had tailed their mark who had decided on a three hour shopping trip, while his colleagues were partying. Arthur was not amused.

“Yusuf just told us about the time when he was caught wearing his sister's knickers.”

“Satin ones in pink.”

Cobb and Eames doubled over laughing again and Ariadne gave Arthur an innocent smile.

“Why don't you sit down and tell us something embarrassing from your past.”

“I don't think anything embarrassing has ever happened to Arthur,” Cobb said, his speech slightly slurred, but everybody in the room was looking at the point man expectantly.

“I need a shower,” Arthur replied and slammed the can on the tabletop with much more force than necessary. “And why me? What about yourself or Eames or Ariadne?”

“Sorry, darling, you missed mine.” Eames winked, which flustered Arthur even more than it usually did. He felt his ears getting hot.

“And his,” Ariadne nodded in the general direction where Cobb sat. “If it'll make you feel better I can tell my tale,” she offered, took a swing from her beer and waved for Arthur to sit down on the sofa.

“First you have a drink though.” She opened Arthur's can and shoved it into his hand, ignoring that beer spilled first over her own and then Arthur's hand.

“Yusuf, to your health!” Eames proclaimed, his British accent thicker than usual.

Too often Arthur had been accused of being the killjoy. The quicker he got through with this ridiculous act the quicker he would get his shower. He too raised his can and took a swing, foam sticking to his nose and upper-lip. He hadn't expected the cold beer to taste this good and drank again.

“It's all right, Ariadne” Arthur said. “I'll do it.”

The others were a little surprised but they didn’t want to pass up the chance to hear that their perfect point man could find himself in an embarrassing situation. Eames wore an expression of superiority because he was quite certain they would hear about the Rottweiler attack some months ago. Arthur had been quite shaken, which in the man's opinion was probably reason enough to be embarrassed, but would likely be received with a fair amount of understanding if not compassion. But Eames was wrong.

“When I was a child,” Arthur began, “my mother called me Dumpling 'cause as a baby I had plenty of puppy fat. I was already in high school when one day I had left my lunch at home. You can imagine what happened. She brought me my lunch during the first break and called across the school yard, 'Dumpling I brought you your lunch!' It was loud enough for everybody to hear. The stupid name stuck until I left to go to college.” Arthur took another large swig from his beer.

The others stared at Arthur in disbelief, but eventually first Cobb, then Yusuf, and finally Ariadne began to chuckle. The chuckle turned into roaring laughter and Arthur felt himself blushing. Only Eames was looking at him with a peculiar expression and never joined the laughter. Finishing his beer quickly, Arthur slipped out of the room to take his shower.

 

The team kept preparing for the extraction, enjoying that for once they had plenty of time and didn't have to work on their usual rather tight schedule. Three days after their little celebration Arthur found himself alone with Eames while Cobb explored the French Quarter, Ariadne had gone to the hair-dresser and Yusuf to the dentist.

“Why did you tell them about the pet name?” Eames asked, when he met Arthur in the kitchen.

Outside it was still 104 degrees and Eames was making himself some tea, the crux of being British, while Arthur was filling a glass with water and plenty of ice.

Arthur didn't look at Eames, who leaned against the counter in a casual fashion, his strong arms crossed before his chest. Instead he ducked inside the fridge to find some lemon, even though he wasn't particularly fond of lemon in his ice-water.

“It was the first thing that came to my mind,” Arthur replied, still hidden behind the fridge-door from the forger's keen eyes.

“Oh really? Why didn't you tell them about Heathrow?”

Eames watched Arthur's back stiffen and when the point man closed the door of the fridge he could see that Arthur looked a little green around the gills.

“Until now I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Liar!” Even though the word was harsh, Eames' voice was soft and Arthur's shoulder's slumped just a little.

“Does it matter what story I told?” Arthur asked.

“I wouldn't want the others to make fun of you by calling you dumpling.”

“What do you care?” Before Eames had a chance to reply, Arthur had left the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Arthur and Eames took immense pride in their work. They had unprecedented skills and their egos virtually prohibited that they did anything that would taint their reputations as point man or forger. Therefore, when the men woke up after an extraction and knew they both had made mistakes, the room temperature seemed to drop below zero within a mere minute.

Two months later

Both Arthur and Eames took immense pride in their work. They had unprecedented skills and their egos virtually prohibited that they did anything that would taint their reputations as point man or forger. Therefore, when the men woke up after an extraction and knew they both had made mistakes, the room temperature seemed to drop below zero within a mere minute. Dom Cobb, Ariadne, and Franz, a German chemist Yusuf had recommended, had been ready to celebrate the successful extraction with a jolly round of high fives and were therefore more than a little baffled when their comrades provided an impressive repertoire of curses before they stormed out of the building and into Sydney's downtown.

“What was that about?” Ariadne asked, but all Dom and Franz could do was shrug, shake their heads, and finish packing their equipment before their still-sleeping mark woke up.

Eames had planned to catch the first available flight to Dubai but he knew from experience that entering an airport in a mood that bad would get him into trouble. Stuffing both fists in the pockets of his jacket he turned up the collar and began walking briskly in the general direction of Sydney's harbour.

Never before had he allowed himself to be distracted so badly that it had endangered the outcome of their job. Eames kicked an innocent lamp-post and cursed before he continued walking.

Initially their plan to get a formula from Johnson's Pharmaceuticals had worked well enough. Eames had transformed into a woman called Helen, who was their mark's girlfriend and worked as a singer in a club; a club their mark Walker Johnson owned. During preparation Eames had watched Helen and had been impressed. The brown-haired woman was small but she had a good voice and a great stage-presence.

It had been agreed upon that Eames/Helen would sing three songs to give the others time to fetch the mark's strongbox and get perhaps a bit of a head start. Before they left for the club, Johnson had indeed locked the formula they were after in the strongbox inside his working desk. In the club Eames had got on stage and begun to sing the songs from Helen's repertoire.

He had just begun the second song when Arthur had walked into the club. Dressed to the nines, the point man had flashed his dimples and Eames had been a goner. Instead of looking at Walker Johnson every so often while singing Whitney Houston's 'I have nothing', Eames had found himself unable to avert his eyes from Arthur. Eyes roaming over the perfectly tailored suit that emphasized the man's exquisite physique, Eames had performed solely for his increasingly abashed looking colleague who had tried unsuccessfully melting into the wall.

The thundering applause at the end of the song hadn't even ended before Johnson signalled Eames to leave the stage. Knowing when to retreat, both Arthur and Eames had bolted.

Eames spotted an open bar across the street and went to get himself a beer. Perhaps, he thought, a couple of pints would do the trick of calming him down.

Arthur had been in a similar state of mind when he had left the building. A cab had taken him to a jazz club called ‘Fair Drinkum’ where he got himself a cocktail innocently called ‘Aunt Roberta’ but had a dastardly punch.

Downing half of the drink on the way to a table, Arthur sat down and cradled his head in his hands.

Yes, Arthur was mad at Eames because honestly, what had the man been thinking? Arthur didn't even realize that he was more upset about how much Eames’ behaviour had confused him than the fact that the forger had angered the mark and caused their flight.

And there was that, their flight. Once they had escaped from the club it had gone well until they had reached a back alley that was probably a childhood memory of their mark. A six foot wooden fence had seemed like a good escape route but when Eames had provided a leg-up Arthur had frozen half way up because on the other side of the fence had stood a dog. It hadn't been a large or particularly dangerous looking dog but the medium sized mutt had been a giant obstacle to him.

“It's a dead-end,” Arthur had lied and only in the very last second he and Eames had been able to open a rusty door and duck inside a building. They had managed to get away with the formula but Arthur knew that his behaviour had endangered the mission.

* * *

Six weeks later

Eames was busy setting up shop in the backstage area of a closed theatre in Buenos Aires and Franz and Cobb were hauling boxes from the van they had conveniently parked in the large delivery area inside the theatre when Ariadne and Arthur returned from an impromptu shopping trip to a local computer store.

Even before Arthur slammed the box with the equipment onto a desk, Eames recognized that something must have happened during the trip. Arthur's lips were pressed tightly together and his shoulders were hunched.

“Hey, what...?”

Eames spoke to thin air because as quickly as he had arrived Arthur was out of the door again.

“What was that about?” Eames walked over to Ariadne who only shook her head, pulling equipment from the box she had brought in herself.

“I shouted at him because he was almost run over by a truck. Didn't think he was that thin-skinned.”

Eames frowned. “That's all?”

Ariadne shrugged. “When we walked back to the car a dog barked at us. It was behind a fence but Arthur immediately jumped to the side and right in front of a truck. Fortunately the truck-driver reacted quickly and managed to stop before turning him to shish kebab.”

“What kind of dog?” Eames asked.

“Pardon?”

“What kind of dog was it that startled him?”

“I don't know.” Ariadne shook her head. “Perhaps this big.” She indicated the height of her knee. “It looked a bit like Goofy.”

“Thanks,” Eames said before he went outside to look for Arthur.

He found him sitting on a low wall in the yard behind the theatre. Arthur was holding his mobile staring at the screen but Eames could see that he wasn't really reading anything. His gaze was downcast and the hand that held the phone was trembling slightly.

Eames walked over and sat down right next to Arthur. He didn't look at him, knowing it would only upset him further. Instead he turned his face towards the sun, enjoying the warmth on his face and waited for Arthur to either speak up or leave. Neither option was more likely than the other.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sounds coming from the street and a couple of birds that sat in the tree.

Arthur knew he should talk to Eames but he still needed time to muster up some courage. Closing his eyes he caught a whiff of Eames' distinct scent that triggered memories of freshly cut grass, rain after a long drought and Sunday afternoons. Suddenly the idea of seeking comfort by burying his nose in Eames' neck was so very appealing that all he could do was sit on his hands. Doing something so foolish surely would only result in getting punched in the face.

“I have Cynophobia,” Arthur said eventually and without looking up. “I’ve had it since I was a child.”

In his vulnerable state Arthur looked incredibly young and Eames fought the urge to take him in his arms to comfort and protect him. A ludicrous idea. Shaking his head, Eames studied Arthur's profile from the corners of his eyes.

“Did anything happen to you that triggered it?” he asked, glad that Arthur apparently was willing to talk instead of running away or playing it down.

Arthur sighed softly but another minute passed before he continued talking. “Our neighbours had a poodle called Barney. A toy-poodle to be exact.” He snorted in a mix of disgust and attempted humour.

“Barney hated me. I was only six but the damn poodle came running as soon as it spotted me, always snapping at my ankles or my fingers. My parents told me it wanted to play and laughed when I tried to avoid it or complained. Every day I went to school I had to walk the other way around the block. My parents told me I was silly and the poodle wouldn't do anything but bark a little.

One day I came home from school and I was in a hurry because there was an election party at my dad's office we all were supposed to attend. I didn't see it coming but sure enough the dog had seen me. He bit my ankle and I fell down. He also bit my forearm and it was bad enough that I needed stitches.

My parents were furious. They told me it had been my fault and because they had to take me to the hospital for the stitches we were late and my parents missed that Senator they were so keen to meet.”

Arthur looked pensively at Eames. “I've been afraid of dogs ever since.”

“I'm not laughing at you, if that's what you're expecting,” Eames told him.

Arthur's furrowed brows confirmed that he had expected just that.

Eames scratched the slight stubble on his chin. He wanted to help Arthur and already an idea began to form in his mind but it'd take a bit of planning.

They spent another ten minutes in companionable silence before Eames nudged Arthur's shoulder with his own in a chummy fashion. “Come on. Let's get back inside.”

Arthur's expression showed clearly that he knew Eames was mulling over what he had just heard but he left his place on the wall and followed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames came up with a plan to help Arthur, which he now is putting into practice.

Two weeks passed during which Eames created an environment he felt confident Arthur would like. Any architect would have been able to do it in less than a day but what the forger lacked in skill he made up with a healthy dose of determination and stubbornness. Arthur needed to be relaxed for what he had planned for him, although the first step Eames hardly considered a challenge. In fact, if Arthur would be frightened by what Eames had planned, there wasn't much hope that anything less than a professional brainwashing would help.

Eventually he was satisfied with his handiwork but then he had to wait several months. More than a year after the incident at Heathrow airport, a project in Barcelona finally brought them back together. 

One afternoon when Eames had some spare time, he walked over to Arthur who was sitting hunched over his laptop.

“Are you busy?” Eames' smooth voice was close enough that the point man, who had been too engrossed in his research to hear the forger approach, felt the warm breath tickle his ear. If Eames hadn't planted both hands firmly onto his shoulders, Arthur was certain he would have jumped out of his skin. He produced an annoyed huff and was about to tell Eames off when the man dug his strong fingers into the tense muscles of Arthur's shoulders. 

“Darling, you are stiff as a board. You need to relax more often.”

For a minute or two Arthur enjoyed the clever fingers that seemed to know exactly how much pressure was necessary to relax the muscles of his neck and shoulders without causing too much pain, but then he stood up and turned.

Anyone but Eames would have stepped back when those dark eyes were turned on him but instead of retreating he allowed his hands to slide around so they kept resting on Arthur's suit-clad shoulders.

“I repeat my earlier question. Are you busy?”

“Of course, I'm busy,” Arthur replied, trying to ignore what the touch of the warm hands as well as the scent of the apparently freshly showered English man did to his insides.

“Let me rephrase it then,” Eames said with a roll of his eyes. “Can it wait for about an hour? I want to show you something.”

Arthur cocked his head and took a step back that caused Eames' hands to slip from his shoulders, leaving Arthur feeling equally relieved and bereft.

“All right, what is it?”

“Do you trust me?”

Arthur's positive reply came without hesitation but he was drawing his ‘yes’.

“I’ve been working on something that should,” Eames hesitated for half a second, “that should help you with your cynophobia.”

The expression on Arthur's face revealed that he expected something as pleasant as getting a root-canal without anaesthesia, but he slowly followed Eames to the room that was equipped with two lounge chairs and the PASIVs. A few minutes later, they went under.

* * *

The environment Eames had created had been chosen mostly for practicality and he hoped it would make Arthur feel comfortable. While he had been planning how to approach the problem, Eames had remembered the Granary Square Steps at the Regent's Canal in London where he had loved to sit in the sun during his days at university. He had recreated the steps, minus the canal, for comfort as well as giving Arthur a feeling of safety. Should Arthur feel the need he could clamber up a couple of steps.

Eames loved every creature that barked, no matter the size. It had been difficult for him to comprehend how somebody who was afraid of a creature as small as a toy-poodle might feel.

In order to feel comfortable Arthur needed clothes he felt good about, which was usually a button-down shirt, an elegant suit and leather shoes. It had proven impossible to find a common ground for Eames' scenario and Savile Row attire, wherefore Eames had spent an extra hour to pick appropriate clothes for Arthur.

Now, standing at the bottom of the steps, Arthur studied his attire. It provided Eames with enough time to do some studying of his own.

The long-sleeve shirt in a green so dark it was almost black brought out the colour of the Arthur's eyes. The dark-grey pair of Fjällräven trousers emphasized the point men's slender hips and well-shaped bum in a way it made Eames' mouth go dry and that was before he discovered that the sneakers Arthur wore came with socks so short that the skin of the man's ankles was visible every time he moved.

Unwilling to be caught staring, Eames bounded up a couple of the steps and patted the ground, inviting Arthur to have a seat. Once Arthur had sat down, Eames went to a large box. Upon opening the lid, soft jipping sounds became audible and with a besotted smile on his face, Eames lifted a basket from the box that contained five puppies, no older than six weeks.

“If these were real puppies they would just begin to learn how to interact with people but would preferable stay with their mother and siblings. So this is a good age to introduce you to each other.”

Walking over to where Arthur was sitting, Eames tried to decipher the point man's expression. Slightly suspicious but definitely not afraid. That was a start. Eames took a seat at the same step Arthur sat on and placed the basket between them.

“These,” he explained, pointing at the wiggling, furry mass inside the basket, “are the puppies you can choose from. Pick one and every time you come back here your puppy will be one week older. In the beginning I will accompany you but when you're feeling comfortable enough you can come back and play with your puppy all by yourself.”

“Why would I want to play with a puppy?” Arthur asked incredulously.

Eames stared at him as if he had been asked why it was necessary to breathe. According to his own beliefs, dogs belonged to the list of basic needs, right next to shelter and clothing.

“The reason why you'd want to play with your puppy, darling, is to lose your fear of dogs. It's only one step but by handling a puppy and watching it grow you'll get a better understanding of dogs. And once you begin to understand dogs, you're going to be less afraid.”

“Oh,” replied Arthur. “I guess that's not a completely terrible idea.” He studied the little dogs.

“Besides, playing with a dog and especially a puppy is fun,” Eames added.

Arthur made a noncommittal sound. He wasn't sure about the fun but waved his hand at Eames, signalling him to continue.

“These puppies I'm going to introduce you to are the most friendly breeds on this planet,” Eames explained while tickling one puppy behind its floppy ear. “We’ve got here a golden retriever, a beagle, a collie, an Irish setter and a labrador retriever.”

Arthur kept looking at the dogs Eames pointed at but didn't touch them. “So, uhm, how does this introduction you mentioned work?” he asked.

Eames cleared his throat and replied in his most serious tone of voice, “Puppies, may I present Arthur, Arthur, meet the puppies.” He waved his hands to indicate the present parties, a broad grin on his face.

“Very funny!”

“Okay, seriously,” Eames cleared his throat again, this time suppressing the grin which he knew wouldn't get him any bonus points in Arthur's book.

He held out his hand to the puppies for inspection and with excited sounds the small dogs did just that. The sniffing and occasional licking continued until Eames pulled back his hand. Since Arthur still wore an expression as if the basket contained rattlesnakes instead of puppies, the forger picked up the little Beagle and sat it on his lap.

“Stretch out your hand and let her sniff it. I promise she won't bite.”

With a soft sigh and still somewhat reluctantly Arthur complied. The beagle sniffed the proffered hand and began to wiggle excitedly on Eames' lap before licking Arthur's thumb.

“Oh,” Arthur proclaimed with a look of wonder and Eames knew he had won.

* * *

They returned the following day and Eames insisted that Arthur met the other puppies, all of them a week older now, but the point man didn't want any other dog than the beagle. Eames didn't care which dog Arthur chose as long as there was a chance the interaction would alleviate his phobia.

So at their third trip to Puppy-Town, as Eames had named their dream space, there was only the beagle.

Arthur never had played with a dog before, so Eames had to teach him how to play and what to do to avoid scaring the little dog while ensuring both human and dog had fun during their interaction.

“Dogs are the most outgoing creatures,” Eames said, when the little puppy acted as if their arrival was the most wonderful event in the world. “This dog,” he pointed at the wiggling puppy, “is very happy and you can encourage it by talking to her.”

It was clear from the way Arthur looked at Eames that he had no idea how to talk to a dog properly, so the forger lifted the beagle onto his lap, scratched her underneath her chin and began cooing to her that she was a wonderful dog and how lovable she was. Arthur studied the forger's actions carefully until he thought he was ready to give it a try, even though he was convinced Eames sounded like someone who had sustained serious brain-damage. Before he could act though, the excited puppy suddenly hunkered down and began to pee, wetting Eames’ trousers in the process.

The forger gave a surprised shout of indignation but when he moved the dog from his lap it was already too late. A wet patch adorned his trousers right at his crotch.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and pulled a tissue from his pocket, proffering it wordlessly.

“That happens,” Eames said through gritted teeth while he was dabbing at the wet patch. “Have you decided yet what you want to call her?” Eames asked, stoically trying to change the topic before it was even addressed.

“Jaune, I think,” Arthur replied without hesitation while looking at the tips of his shoes and knitting his brows.

“Joan?” Eames asked.

“No, Jaune,” Arthur replied, still avoiding Eames’ gaze. “Like the colour yellow in French,” he added after a short pause. He was biting his lower lip but finally began to chuckle. He tried so very hard not to laugh, that tears began to well up in his eyes.

Eames gave Arthur an exasperated look but when the point man's chuckle finally turned into helpless, hearty laughter he couldn't help but join in. Their peals of laughter startled the newly christened dog, but Arthur, who couldn't remember the last time he’d had such a laughing fit, rubbed Jaune's ears and she calmed down visibly.

“Well, Jaune it is,” Eames eventually said, unable to be mad at Arthur who looked at him with shining eyes, his dimples distinctly pronounced.

When both men woke up on their lounging chairs they exchanged fond looks. Their smiles were still in place when they return to their respective work.

* * *

The next time they wanted to go under, Ariadne approached Arthur. “Do you have a moment? I just want to show you something,” she said.

With a glance at the forger, Arthur nodded. “Go ahead. I'll follow you in a few minutes if that's okay.”

“Sure,” Eames shrugged. He sat on the lounging chair and reached for the PASIV.

“Let me do that,” Arthur said, firmly taking hold of the forger's wrist before attaching the needle skilfully. He watched Eames fall asleep and then followed Ariadne to her computer.

They were done within ten minutes but naturally for Eames much more time had passed.

When Arthur joined him, he found Eames lying on his back while a large brown dog was running around him, barking excitedly and trying to nip at the man’s hands. The forger made odd growling sounds, all the while grinning widely. Every so often the dog would dart to the side in order to escape the hand that tried to snatch him but Eames managed to take the dog by surprise and once he got hold of a hind-leg, the dog jumped onto his chest. With astonishment Arthur watched man and dog wrestle, both of them oblivious to their observer. The dog was wagging its tail like crazy and kept trying to lick Eames' face.

The dog became aware of Arthur’s presence. It gave a short bark but before it could greet the new arrival, Eames took hold of the dog’s collar. He rolled onto his side, and smiled at Arthur. His face was flushed and his eyes shone brightly.

'If I weren't in love with him already, I'd fall for him right now,' Arthur thought.

The shock that immediately followed his train of thought was so great that he stumbled backwards as if being pushed. Thinking the reaction had been caused by the excited dog, Eames lept to his feet still holding the dog by its collar. One hand outstretched he began to apologize, “Rocky won't hurt you, Arthur. I'm sorry if he startled you.”

“I... no, it wasn't that.” He really didn't want to explain his reaction, so he added quickly, “did you make him up like Jaune?

Eames shook his head and ordered Rocky to sit.

“No. Rocky was my own dog. I got him when I was ten and had him for nearly twelve years.”

Eames bend down to ruffle the dog's short fur affectionately before he made him disappear. “Well,“ he said, his voice slightly rough, “let’s get Jaune then.”

Arthur was looking around curiously. The forger had changed the scenery which now looked like any provincial neighbourhood with a wooden house and the lawn stretching from a porch to a fence. On the lawn stood a bench without a back-rest and a container with a variety of dog toys.

Jaune came scampering from the porch, her ears flapping while she she ran in her somewhat clumsy gallop towards Arthur. When Jaune had reached him, meaning she only stopped because she bumped into his leg, Arthur grinned at Eames.

The forger readily returned the smile but was still paying close attention how Arthur and Jaune were greeting each other. Once he was satisfied with the interaction he went to the container with the toys. He chose a rope tug toy, and once he had shown Arthur what to do with it, Jaune played the newly introduced game rather enthusiastically.  
For about half an hour Arthur played with the beagle before she slumped down at his feet and almost instantly fell asleep.

“So, how do you feel?” Eames asked, joining Arthur who had sat down on the bench.

Arthur looked first at the puppy and then the toy in his hands, his expression thoughtful.

“I don’t know about real dogs but this is fine.” He smiled softly. “Thank you for going through so much trouble for me.”

Feeling his face getting unfamiliarly hot, Eames nodded and mumbled something unintelligible. He studied Arthur’s face from the corners of his eyes but when the point man turned his head to return his gaze, he quickly looked down at the toy in Arthur’s hand. The toy looked more than a little damaged after only one play session.

Eames felt his stomach drop. Jaune was a puppy but she had already begun to develop her milk teeth. He knew from experience that those teeth could cause a lot of damage and it was quite possible that Arthur would get hurt while playing with the dog.

His gaze shifted from Arthur’s fingers, that were curled loosely around the dog toy, to his own right hand, where he saw the white line of a scar. Creating a dog had been easy enough but how to avoid the pointy teeth without having the puppy skipping at least four month in development. Eames bit his lower lip while rubbing almost absent-mindedly the pinky of his right hand, which had been a victim of exactly those sharp teeth. His carefully planned project, he feared, was prone to fail.

Eames didn’t sleep well that night. Beating his pillow into submission didn’t help at all. He kept tossing and turning in his bed until he finally gave up in the early morning hours. It was four thirty when he pulled on his sweats and running shoes. The air was cool but after the first mile of running his head felt much clearer. The only sounds accompanying him were of his breathing and his feet hitting the pavement. Concentrating on the rhythm of his breathing and allowing his mind to wander the solution to his problem came to him when he passed a chapel with a small park next to it.

Eames knew dogs and he was a forger, so the problem could be solved if he himself turned into the dog during the critical six months. He’d need help, of course, because somebody had to make sure Arthur would sleep a little longer than Eames but he knew he could probably rely on Franz.

Starting his way back to the house he had rented for the duration of the job, Eames felt certain he could pull it off. He would return one more time with Arthur and then send him off on his own. The point man had made good progress and was already much more confident handling Jaune. The most difficult task would be controlling when Arthur went under so Eames could be there every single time.

Back at the house he took a quick shower and crawled into his bed. It was already past six but no-one would question him if he showed up a little later than usually. Just before he fell asleep with a smile on his face it occurred to him that his little scheme had the bonus effect of getting cuddles and belly-rubs from Arthur.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur keeps playing with Jaune, unaware that it is in fact Eames.

Eames’ plan indeed seemed to work. Arthur had immediately accepted the suggestion of working with Jaune on his own and had also agreed that they’d talk before as well as after Arthur’s excursions.

Franz said he'd help even though Eames had refused giving him more than a sketchy explanation. Some months ago Arthur had trusted Eames with the secret about the cynophobia and the forger wouldn’t share it with anybody else.

A week passed during which Arthur went under three times to play games that Eames had recommended to entertain and interact with the steadily growing beagle.

Eames was astonished how easy it was for him to turn into Jaune while at the same time he found it surprisingly difficult to display the affection that came natural to any dog. Fortunately Arthur either didn’t notice that Jaune was behaving slightly differently during those first visits he went on his own or he didn’t care. At least he never commented on it when he talked to Eames later on.

The second week started with Arthur greeting Jaune verbally for the first time when she came trotting towards him.

"Hey, Sweetie!" Arthur said. When Jaune reached the Human, she sat down on her bum, blinking at him.

Scratching the little dog behind her floppy ears, Arthur sighed. "Eames told me that I needed to talk to you," he said, "but I really don't know what I should tell you." Jaune cocked her head, listening attentively to Arthur’s voice.

"Eames also told me," Arthur continued eventually but he stopped talking when Jaune began to thump her tail onto the grass. "Eames," Arthur said, drawing out the E. With a smile he watched the little dog thumping her tail more excitedly. "Do you like hearing the name Eames?" The dog began to wiggle her bum a bit and Arthur had to laugh about the beagle’s antics.

"Eames, Eames, Eames!" He kept chanted the name in a sing-song voice until Jaune went completely crazy, running circles around him, yipping excitedly.

Eventually she calmed down and came over to sit at his feet again and Arthur, still chuckling, began to stroke the dog’s back.

“You like Eames, don’t you?” he asked the dog, who perked up her ears again and kept looking at him curiously, her head slightly tilted.

“I know you do,” Arthur said. “And so do I.” He lifted the puppy onto his lap and pressed his face against the soft fur at the dog’s neck. “So do I,” he repeated softly.

Hours later Eames sat in a bodega, staring at a bottle of beer in front of him. The hour he had spent in the body of the dog had left him rather befuddled. Arthur had told him, well, technically he had told Jaune, but Eames now knew that Arthur liked him. Of course, all Arthur could have meant was that Eames was a nice guy but the forger doubted it.

The moment Arthur had rolled Eames, in the shape of the dog, onto his back and rubbed his tummy, Eames had finally acknowledged that he was not only fond of Arthur but actually quite infatuated and probably more than a little bit in love with him. So far he had hidden his feelings because he had never thought Arthur would return them. Eames now knew the point man felt something for him but he couldn’t ask about that statement he hadn’t been supposed to hear. Acting upon the newly acquired knowledge was also out of the question because Arthur was intelligent enough to get suspicious.

“What a mess!” Eames sighed. Resisting the urge of thumping his forehead on the table-top, he drank from his beer.

Furthermore, even though Arthur might have stronger feelings for Eames didn’t mean he would be interested in changing their relationship. A tiny voice in Eames’ brain kept whispering that Arthur would be willing to do that once he had figured out the prospects of success.

For now, Eames realized, he had to continue this charade and be alert to any possibilities.

* * *

A couple of weeks passed during which the team was too busy for Arthur to do anything but completely concentrate on his actual job as point man. The upcoming extraction was a tricky one where both Ariadne and Cobb had to work particularly hard on getting the architecture right.

When one afternoon, about half an hour after Dom had come out of his dream, he began limping, nobody paid attention, especially since two hours later Dom was fine again.

Dom told Franz that he had twisted his ankle during his dream but as this could have been a coincidence and so far had been a single occurrence, neither the chemist nor the architect gave it a second thought. That is, until a few days later, Arthur and Eames went under again.

Arthur had to admit that he was quite pleased with the progress he felt he had made. Of course, Jaune was only part of a dream and not a real dog but he still decided that he wanted to talk to Eames as soon as possible that he thought he was ready for another step. He didn’t know what the next step could be but he felt certain Eames had given it some thought already.

Perhaps he should invite Eames to dinner, Arthur thought. That was the least he could do to thank the man for his help. It also would give him the chance to spend some time with Eames outside their job and in the real world. Throwing the ball for Jaune once more, Arthur stood up. The beagle already looked a bit tired and she didn’t seem quite as thrilled about chasing the ball as she had fifteen minutes ago.

Taking the ball from her, Arthur praised the dog and affectionately ruffled her fur before he told her it was time to go home. Apparently the dog understood the concept of going home because Jaune produced a soft woof and began trotting towards the house.

Just like the last couple of times, she stopped after a few meters and cocked her head, looking at him as if she wanted to say goodbye. Her look was carefree and Arthur almost expected her to smile and wave at him.

The crux with dreaming was, that is wasn't only possible to dream up good bits but bad ones too. So when Arthur thought, for reasons he couldn’t even begin to grasp, that this cute little dog would stand as little a chance against an angry Rottweiler as Arthur himself once did, said Rottweiler suddenly appeared. Not only did the Rottweiler appear, but the moment it caught sight of Arthur it attacked.

Startled, Arthur cried out in alarm. “Look out!” he shouted and Jaune seemed to understand. The beagle turned and upon catching sight of the quickly approaching Rottweiler immediately attacked the dog that was probably ten times her size. As courageous as the attack was, the large dog didn't slow down but grabbed the beagle by the neck and threw her to the ground before biting into Jaune's back with so much power that even Arthur could hear the little dog's spine break.

“No!” he yelled, simultaneously pulling a shotgun that hadn't been there a second ago out of thin air and killing the Rottweiler with a single shot. The dead dog landed right at his feet and taking a step backwards, Arthur tripped over the bench he had been sitting on less than a minute ago. That Jaune's broken body was nowhere to be seen was the last thing Arthur noticed before he fell and consequently woke up.

* * *

The noise of a door that was slammed shut startled Arthur. “What…?” Sitting up and removing the needle, Arthur noticed Franz who stood next to the lounge chair and was looking more than a little alarmed.

“What’s going on?” Arthur's voice was stern because he had a feeling that something was very wrong.

Franz shook his head. “Did something happened during your dream?”

“Why?” Arthur’s voice sounded as suspicious as the point man felt.

“I can’t tell you. I’m not supposed to,” Franz stammered.

“What are you not supposed to tell me?” Arthur had left the lounge chair and was now standing right in front of the chemist, his posture intimidating.

“I am going to tell you. I promise.” Franz held up his hands. “But first tell me what happened.”

Arthur knew that Franz thought that he and Eames were doing research on dogs in dream-sharing. So he explained that the dog he was usually working with had been severely injured during the dream, that he had then shot an attacking rottweiler and woken up a bit prematurely because he had tripped over a bench.

“Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße!” Franz cursed in his native tongue.

“Talk to me!” Arthur demanded. “Now!”

Franz swallowed before he began to talk. “The dog you were working with, that was Eames.”

Arthur only blinked. “Eames was the dog? Why? And where is he now?”

“I don’t know why but he left and you need to find him right away. This,” Franz pointed at the case in which he kept the Somnacin, “probably has an extremely bad side-effect. I’ve only learned a few hours ago that a person who uses this batch of Somnacin and gets hurt during the dream will have an.. um.. reaction.”

“What kind of reaction?” Arthur felt his stomach tighten.

“It’s like a flashback that makes the brain believe the injury the body sustained in the dream was real. Meaning the body will react by experiencing the pain. Do you remember when Dom said his ankle hurt the other day? He had twisted his ankle in the dream. It wasn’t a bad injury and the pain subsided by itself but Eames obviously has been badly injured. I don’t know what’s going to happen if he doesn’t get treatment.” Franz was looking sheepishly at Arthur who had begun shaking with rage.

“Okay, give me a counter agent and I’ll see that I find him,” Arthur said, holding out his hand.

Franz shook his head. “I don’t know about any counter agent and if there is one I certainly don’t have it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if playing with a puppy for a while would make enough of a difference for somebody with actual cynophobia that they'd be able to react like Arthur did but for him I found it approapriate.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur reacts upon the new found knowledge that Eames had forged the dog and subsequently had been seriously injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, give me a counter agent and I’ll see that I find him,” Arthur said, holding out his hand.
> 
> Franz shook his head. “I don’t know about any counter agent and if there is one I certainly don’t have it.”

Arthur gripped the man by the lapels of his jacket. “You allowed us to go under when you knew this could happen?”

“I thought you were doing research, nothing dangerous. We wouldn't try the extraction until the new, safe chemicals arrived. And Eames knew about the problem with the compound.”

“In case this is supposed to put my mind at ease, it isn’t working,” Arthur snarled. “What can I do to help Eames?”

Franz shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Arthur paced the room for half a minute before he pulled out his mobile. Scrolling through the contacts he selected Yusuf’s number and pressed the call-button. The chemist answered the call after the tenth ring with, “This is better important!”

“It is,” Arthur said before he told the chemist what had happened.

When he ended the call almost five minutes later his jaw was set. Grabbing his jacket and keys for the car he went to the adjacent room where Dom Cobb was typing on a computer.

“Do you know where Eames is staying?”

“Huh?”

“I need to know right now where Eames is staying during this job.”

Dom saw the determination in Arthur’s face so he gave him an address. “Would you mind telling me what’s so important?”

“No time,”Arthur replied. “Ask Franz.” The point man was already dashing out of the door, running towards his car.

It took him the better part of an hour to get the medication Eames required and reach the house the forger had chosen for residence during their job in Barcelona. On his way he had tried calling him but every time the mobile went to voicemail after a few rings.

The house where he hoped he’d find Eames was located in a quiet residential area. An elderly woman who lived across the street came running over the moment Arthur jumped out of the car. She spoke in rapid Catalan and although Arthur was fluent in both Spanish and French it took him a while to understand that the woman was worried about her neighbour, Señor Charles, because he had been looking quite unwell when he had arrived some time ago.

Arthur quickly told the woman in Spanish that she didn't need to worry because he would take care of Señor Charles, a ridiculous name as far as Arthur was concerned, and hurried over to the house. Knocking at the door several times and shouting Eames’ name brought no success. The door was locked and all windows except one upstairs were closed. Considering what climbing the overgrown façade of the house would do to his suit Arthur quickly made a decision and broke a windowpane on the ground floor to climb into the house.

Not certain about the physical state of the forger and consequentlyhis state of mind, Arthur was extra careful when he searched the house for its occupant. Even for Arthur, Eames could pose a serious threat.

When he did find him though, the sight that greeted him made him feel like he had been punched in the gut. Eames was lying on the floor of a bedroom upstairs, the one with the open window. Lying on his side, the hair askew, eyes tightly shut and wearing nothing but his boxers, the man was shivering violently. His hands were clenched around what turned out to be the shirt he had worn earlier. The skin looked clammy and the pink nipples that stood in a harsh contrast to the ink that graced Eames' skin, made him look very vulnerable.

“Eames, it's me, Arthur.” He spoke in a low, soothing voice remembering Yusuf's warning that Eames' might lash out. The last thing Arthur needed was being knocked out but he quickly realized that the man on the floor didn't pose a threat.

“Arthur!” Eames’ voice was brittle and his blue eyes were begging Arthur to do something, anything, to stop the pain.

In two long strides Arthur reached him. He went down on one knee and prepared the syringe he had brought.

“What you're suffering from is not a regular pain,” he told Eames. Yusuf explained that Iboprufen, Tylenol and all the other meds won't help.” He held up the syringe and flicked it in order to remove any air-bubbles from the clear fluid inside. “I’ve got you something that is for neuropathic pain, which is like phantom pain. Yusuf said you should be fine as soon as it kicks in.”

The substance had to be injected intramuscularly but the powerful muscles of Eames’ arms were so tense he would probably break the needle. Only one other option really. Before Eames could protest, not that Arthur announced what he planned to do, he had pulled down the cotton of the boxers and stabbed the needle into the tissue of the upper quadrant of one well shaped butt cheek. The fact that Eames didn't even looked insulted but produced a small whimper made Arthur's heart hurt.

Once he had injected the solution and had put the boxers back in place, Arthur stood up, disposed the now empty syringe in a wastebasket and closed the window. Then he pulled a blanket from the bed and bundled the man on the floor up as best as he could.

Yusuf had told Arthur that initially Eames would feel like he was burning up but half an hour later he would begin to suffer from chills, and the pain from the injuries endured during the dream would kick in with all its force.

He had watched and heard when the dog's back was broken,and probably both hipbones too, which would ensure excruciating pain.

Since touching him wouldn't make it worse but hopefully help with the chills, Arthur quickly took off his jacket and waistcoat and slipped underneath the blanket to pull Eames against his chest. For a moment the man in his arms stiffened upon the unexpected touch but then he shuffled closer, clearly finding comfort in the warmth of the embrace.

Minutes passed during which Arthur spoke softly to Eames, trying to calm him with his voice, until finally the painkiller began to work in earnest. Bit by bit Eames' taut muscles began to relax but it took almost a quarter of an hour before Arthur no longer had the feeling that he was hugging a rock.

Eventually Eames struggled to sit up, clearly intending to move off the floor. “I don't think I can make it up there myself,” he whispered.

By up there, Arthur understood, Eames meant the bed. He got up and untangled the blanket that was still wrapped around them before he pulled the forger to his feet.

Arthur was of slim build but as Eames had once pointed out, he consisted of ninety percent bones, sinew, and muscle, and ten percent dimples. Now he needed all his strength because Eames' legs hardly supported his own weight. The three steps to the bed drained most of Eames' remaining energy and he collapsed into a boneless heap.

Arthur's phone rang when he was about to pick up the blanket.

“Yes,” Arthur said, holding the mobile phone with one hand while putting the blanket on top of the man on the bed.

It was Yusuf. “Did you find him?”

“Yes, and the solution worked but he's weak as a kitten.”

Eames gave a soft growl upon this analogy.

“Yes, that was him. Sounds like he's recovering.”

Arthur listened for a minute before he thanked Yusuf and ended the call.

“Yusuf said you require lots of fluids after the physical trauma you went through.” He went to the bathroom and came back a moment later with a glass of water.

With Arthur’s help Eames managed to raise his head enough so he could drink without choking. He emptied the glass greedily.

“Another one?”

“Yes, please.”

When Arthur handed him a newly filled glass, Eames took only a sip before he asked, “What happened after the rottweiler attacked.. um.. Jaune? You weren't hurt, were you?”

“No.” Arthur shook his head before he added, “I shot it.“ His voice sounded flat.

“You made very good progress,” Eames said quietly. “Don't hide your light under a bushel.“

Arthur didn't reply but smiled somewhat shyly. Still the praise from Eames was honest and it made him feel pretty good.

Once Eames had downed another glass of water he looked visibly better and instead of simply slumping back against the pillow he placed his head into his companion's lap. The slight crinkle around his eyes revealed that Eames' usual mischievous self had come back online while his makeshift pillow looked decidedly scandalised. Arthur's jaw worked for a moment while he fumbled for words.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, his voice sounding hoarse.

“Recovering from the physical trauma,” Eames replied. Bestowing a dopey-eyed look on Arthur he added, “I need some more tender loving care in order to recover properly.”

Feeling himself blush, Arthur jumped up so quickly Eames nearly toppled off the bed. Ignoring the man's hurt look Arthur carried the empty glass to the bathroom to compose himself. He stood with his eyes closed in front of the mirror, his hands curled around the cool wash-basin, and concentrated on his breathing.

Arthur couldn't deny that he had begun to care deeply for Eames, even though the man annoyed him on a daily basis. Yet he knew that there was much more than the ridiculous, flirty persona the world knew as the forger Eames. Hidden under odd-coloured shirts and tattooed skin was a loving and caring man who seemed to hide his heart; probably in order to prevent people from stepping on it, whether on purpose or by accident. Even though Arthur had often been brusque when dealing with Eames, the forger had reached out and without being patronizing he had helped Arthur in a way that had nothing to do with their work. Arthur had been allowed to glimpse bits and pieces of the man's soul and had come to admire the complex forger as a whole.

A minute passed until Arthur felt ready to return to the bedroom.

Eames looked wary as Arthur approached him. Instead of sitting down on the bed, Arthur manoeuvred a chair that stood in a corner of the room so he could sit next to the bed while facing the man on it.

“Why did you take on the role of Jaune? It was you who said that dogs wouldn't blab about what they heard. Did you expect me talking about something personal?” Arthur's voice revealed hurt and mistrust.

Eames shook his head. After only a moment of hesitation he held out his right hand. “This,” he wiggled his pinky as much as he was capable to, “was caused by my dog Rocky. You sort of met him.” Arthur nodded and Eames smiled wistfully before he continued.

“I was ten when I stole Rocky from a man who at that time was breeding dogs illegally for fighting. Rocky was a mix but even when he was a puppy it was clear to my parents that he had been bred to fight. They kept insisting he was dangerous but after numerous discussions I was allowed to keep him. Still, my father told me that should anything happen he would shoot him.

“Rocky was the best. He was gentle and never hurt me on purpose but when he was about six months old he accidentally bit my finger during play. The bite severed the tendon in my finger. It hurt like hell and bled badly but that day my parents were not at home and I bandaged it. For the next days I was hiding the injury because I knew my father would have shot Rocky. I never went to see a doctor. When I finally noticed that I couldn't stretch my finger I told my parents that I had hurt myself on some wire fence but it was too late to do anything about the severed tendon without an elaborate surgery for which we didn't have enough money. And later...” Eames shrugged, contemplating the crooked finger.

“My parents never learned it was Rocky who was responsible for the injury.”

Eames reached out and with utmost care took Arthur's right hand in his. He turned the hand and grazed the palm with his fingers.

“Your hands are beautiful and your fingers are strong and agile.” He looked at Arthur who, in return, was watching Eames handling his hand with an unreadable expression.

“Jaune developed like a real puppy and her first teeth would have been very sharp. If she bit you, even in a dream, I thought you'd never overcome the cynophobia.”

“So you decided to turn into Jaune because she might bite me but you wouldn't?”

Mischief began to gleam in Eames' eyes. “Let me rephrase that, darling. I wouldn't hurt you but I would bite you.” With a playful growl he prepared to take side of Arthur's hand in his mouth, hoping he could avoid further talk of a topic he didn't feel exactly comfortable discussing.

“Not so fast, I'm not done yet,” Arthur said, quickly pulling his hand free and taking a firm but gentle hold of Eames' chin in return.

Eames' prominent blue-grey eyes were flitting over Arthur's features, trying to deduce how difficult it'd be to get off the hook and what else the man might want to know.

“You took a great risk, attacking the rottweiler in the form of Jaune,” Arthur said. His hand was still holding Eames' chin, preventing him from looking away, but he ran his thumb over the skin next to Eames' mouth. “You could have been torn to pieces and with the current dilemma of the sedative..” Arthur's voice trailed off.

The widening of Eames' eyes revealed that he had neither expected that statement nor the caress. Not sure how to reply, he shrugged and lowered his gaze.

“Yeah, I guess,” he admitted when Arthur remained silent.

Eventually a lopsided smile appeared on Arthur's face. “You're an idiot!” he declared earnestly before he leaned down and brushed a kiss on Eames' full lips, the light touch sending shivers through his body. “And thank you,” he whispered.

Eames was stunned but then his bashful expression slowly transformed into an unguarded smile. “You really like me,” he said, sounding ridiculously pleased.

“God help me, I do,” Arthur answered. He had the feeling that all too soon Eames would be unbearably smug about it. Studying the man who was looking quite besotted himself, Arthur leaned down for another kiss, this time a much more thorough one. Arthur kissed Eames carefully, and when those full lips parted under the gentle touch Arthur felt like his world began to turn upside down. A strong arm came up and pulled him closer so he ended half lying on top of Eames' chest. Arthur smiled into the kiss and decided that he could worry about Eames' future, probably even more exuberant behaviour another time. For now he acknowledged that he was far too smitten to care and allowed himself to get lost in the delicious sensation that was Eames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. I hope you enjoyed my first excursion into the world of Inception. Writing the story has been fun and I'm sure it won't be the last Eames x Arthur story that I wrote.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me get this straight: I have absolutely no problems with any types of dogs in general or certain breeds - Rottweilers, Pitbulls etc. - in partciular. In this case I only needed an impressive dog to pose a serious threat and a Rottweiler seemed like a good choice.  
> Naturally I assigned Tom Hardy's well-known affection for dogs to Eames.


End file.
